Horrors of the Mind
by bono-212
Summary: "Every kid knows who Freddy is. He's like Santa Claus... or King Kong." He has become a legend in and of himself, and until now he was a figment of Wes Craven's imagination. Freddy wanted more.
1. Chapter 1

*A/N - *Nightmare on Elm Street...not mine

This is a story I began quite some time ago, and took down from Fanfiction for reasons I can no longer remember. Regardless, I'm putting it back up as I go through and edit each chapter, and will be finishing it once and for all. Hope those of you who read enjoy.

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"Every kid knows who Freddy is. He's like Santa Claus... or King Kong." He has become a legend in and of himself, and until now he was a figment of Wes Craven's imagination. Yet, Craven himself theorized that if something was so thoroughly believed in, if all the world knew of an entity and in the corners of their minds wondered at the possibilities of actual existence, it could be created. All Freddy needed to at least partially exist was for people to continue to believe in him through the movies, but the movies stopped. Freddy grew bored. With no one to terrorize or kill, he had turned into a dark spot in the backs of the generation before's mind. And then suddenly he was back, brought from the depths of the cutting room floor to battle another horror movie icon, Jason Voorhees. Freddy didn't appreciate his character being placed in a movie where not only was his defeat embarrassing, but he was not even really given the opportunity to feed on the terror of those teenagers he so often sought, and so he planned his escape. He no longer wished to be a pawn of the creators of films. All he needed was one more movie. One chance for escape, and then, he would take it, and the supply of dreams would be endless. Or, so he thought. Escape would be more difficult than he had planned.

ELMELMELMELMELMELM

A fireball engulfed the two titans of horror, and Freddy screamed at a pitch that made the onlookers crouch down and cover their ears. Jason remained silent, but he too was engulfed in the flames and fled to theonly means of escape he could find, the same lake he drowned in all those years before. Freddy followed behind Jason, and the two splashed in the water for a few moments, before Jason sunk into the depths. Freddy laughed at the onlookers and waved at them with his razored began to swim back towards shore, and the couple looking hugged each other in fright. Suddenly, from depths, the machete Jason was so known for flashed through the air, disappearing behind and reappearing in front of Freddy's chest. With a glance down at the intruding object, Freddy took one more glance at the pair before sinking into the water, followed behind by Jason.

As the credits bean all Max could do was roll his eyes. "Are you serious? That's the end? That was the worst piece of crap I've ever seen in my entire life." He got up to leave the three other members of his party followed behind.

"Max, what is wrong with you? I pull every string imaginable to get you tickets to this premiere and all you can do is say it's a piece of crap? Why do you even watch these movies?" The four walked out of the Chicago theater, underneath a bright marquee declaring, "Tonight Only: Premiere of Freddy Vs. Jason two: Evil has returned."

"Oh lighten up Chris, Max has a very special connection with Freddy, don't you Max?" Chris' girlfriend, Sarah, laughed as she held onto his arm. "I mean, you do talk about the movies all the time, and you even write fanfiction about the guy," she teased.

"Leave him alone, guys." This came from Max's girlfriend, Brittany.

"Look, I don't know how many times I have to explain to you guys. I've always just…felt like I need to see the movies ok. I mean, the guy did kill me in a dream once. You're not supposed to die in dreams. It's a bit troubling." The words seemed ridiculous, but Max's face was all seriousness. The group were now walking passed the poster for the film when Max jerked to a hault and looked up at the face that haunted him.

"What's wrong?" Brittany stared at her boyfriend with concern. "Max? Max, are you all right?" Max seemed frozen in place. He continued to stare into the eyes of the character on the poster, and for all intents and purposes had left the world around him.

Chris walked over to his solemn friend and gave him a slight nudge on the shoulder. "Max, are you in there?" Suddenly Max jerked away from the poster and fell to the cement below, barely missing the gutter and the cars that were sure to pass by.

"Max," Brittany said with more than a little fear joining the concern in her voice. "What happened? Are you ok? Talk to me Max, tell me what's wrong?"

"N-n-nothing." The slight stutter that Max hid so well, had come to the surface, and his friends knew that, try as he might to deny it, something had startled him. Face flushed, and barely able to stand, Max tried his best to feign the concern being pressed on him. "I just…I'm tired. It's late, and it's been kind of overwhelming. I mean come on guys," He jumped up, seeming to be full of energy once more, "How many celebrities did we meet tonight? This is a once in a lifetime sorta thing for us. I got to meet Wes Craven for crissake! Can't believe the guy let them do this to Freddy, but never mind that, I've met Wes Craven!"

The much more invigorated mood of their friend seemed to spark new life into the party, and they continued down the street to the diner they so often frequented on their late night outings.

No one seemed to notice that Max had once again grown quiet, and his normally vibrant blue eyes, had become very pale.

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So...please r/r if you could, greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Nightmare on Elm Street, not mine.

Later that night, the four friends parted ways and Max headed home. He walked through the silent streets of the big city, something his mother often warned him against, but that he usually found strangely soothing. Not this night, try as he might he could not shake the feeling that something inside him did not feel quite right. What exactly was it that had taken over him when he left the theater? Because, rest assured, something had taken over him, he could feel it. He had lost control of his body. He'd wanted to make it move, but he could not. He was trapped, solid, motionless, paralyzed, not with fear, but simply by some force greater than himself that was, he was almost positive, attempting to enter his body. That was crazy, he knew it was crazy, everything he did made him feel crazy. And yet, Why did he feel so tired? It must have just been the long day. As it was this was the first time he and Brittany had gone out since the fight they had been in the week before. It was a stressful time for him.

He walked under street lights, and passed liquor, convenience, grocery, and any other type of store you could think of in the little residential area he came home, musing over his thoughts, until he reached his own drive-way and quietly snuck into the house. It was nearly two A.M., and he didn't want to wake his parents up, even if he WAS 18 and he DID have permission to be out. Entering the dark house did nothing to ease his fears, but to turn on the lights would certainly defeat his purpose, and so he quietly slid up the staircase and to the room he would be leaving so very soon in the fall.

Slipping into a t-shirt and shorts he crawled into bed. Quickly the familiar apprehension he felt before going to sleep after watching a Nightmare movie began tugging at him ever so slightly, but he shrugged it off as usual. What should have been a strange routine had become the norm. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder? Sadism, Masochism? He didn't know why he did it to himself. Why he watched these movies time after time. They were, for the most part, incredibly stupid and droll. The original, and New Nightmare, those were the only ones he cared to watch. But he'd watch the rest just the same.

Give me a good dose of Dream Child, at least I can laugh at my strange situation, he would think. It's not like I watch the movies all the time, he thought to himself as he began to slip away to sleep. In fact, over the years, as the movies and the fame began to slip away, so to did his desire to watch the films. He was really beginning to believe that he'd gotten over it, that a silly bad dream nearly 7 years ago had finally worn off and he was beginning to finally awake to the world around him as it was and should be. Not covered in the dream fog that separated us in slumber from the facts of reality. But no, Craven had to whore Freddy out for yet another film, and it all came back, it all came crashing back, and he could find no relief from the need, the NEED, to go see the film. When Chris approached him with Premiere tickets, at least it was a chance to get something good out of seeing what was in general a pointless and stupid movie.

These pondering began to do their work, and Max could feel the creeping of sleep. He was suddenly full of apprehension at the thought, and he wanted nothing more than to stay awake. It is, of course, when we try hardest to stay awake, that something decidedly evil in the back of our unconscious begins to take hold and force sleep upon us.

ELMELMELMELMELMELMELM

He awoke where he usually awoke in a Freddy nightmare: an empty parking lot outside of the grocery store by the same movie theater he saw the premiere of Freddy Vs Jason 2 that evening. There was a slight fog around, and the sun had set, only the streetlights provided any illumination. He walked

around, surveying the area, ready to get the jump on Freddy should he spot him first, however, something about this dream felt different. It felt more real. It was as this thought was crossing his mind that he heard the grating of metal on metal echoing everywhere in the parking lot. Max jerked around in a circle, but he saw nothing. Just the empty, dark supermarket, and the hundreds of surrounding parking spaces.

The shopping carts, that's what had killed him in that very first Freddy Kruger dream. He had been running across this very parking lot, and foolishly believed he had escaped his tormentor when he was knocked over by a shopping cart. The metallic beast had come from nowhere, and only an inhuman strength could have pushed it as hard as necessary to have sent him sprawling the way this one did. That inhuman force was Freddy. He had stood above Max holding the shopping cart like a soccer mom from hell, and when Max pulled himself to his feet, Freddy pushed the cart into his chest, and all Max could think to do was grab onto the edge like a 5 year old going for a ride and hang on for dear life. It was exactly what Kruger had wanted. With that comic grin so prominent in the films, he pushed the cart faster and faster across the lot, where to, Max did not know, but thinking he simply was trying to knock him loose. Instead, and it was over in nearly an instant, Max felt it only slightly but it was agonizing, even in a dream, instead, he pushed the cart home against all the others in the corral, and with that inhuman strength, Max's frail body was crushed amongst the metal jaws of the cart behind.

It was rather gruesome as far as dreams go, but it had been a dream, and he had awoken right as rain. But it left a mark on him. You aren't supposed to die in dreams but he had felt just that, like he had died. There was only dark when the dream had ended, an abyss that he could not escape from until finally his alarm woke him the next day. That day, and the next, and the one after that, for near a week, he wondered if he had not died in his sleep, and somehow his heart had jump started. Whatever the reason, he could not bring himself to talk to anyone professional about it, nor to his mother, and definitely not his father. He sought refuge in the closest friend he had, and that friendship soon sparked a relationship, and that relationship, he hoped would someday grow into a lifetime.

These thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the grating metal rising again, with still no source. His heart began pounding hard in his chest. _This is stupid,_ he thought, _I've had these nightmares hundreds of times. No reason to start feeling anxious now._

Max decided to head towards the supermarket, because it didn't seem like there was anyone around out here. He had only take a few steps when the asphalt beneath him suddenly split in two along some invisible fault line and opened into a deep, dark chasm. Max began to fall. And fall. The walls around him were red, a volcanic chamber, and Max fell. He fell, and he fell. Minutes, hours, seconds, he didn't know. The sides did not change, his shocked screaming began to ease, but still he fell. The fear of hitting the ground was overwhelming and he knew it must be rising to meet him soon. Soon. Again he began to scream, this time for help, for someone to wake him up, but there was no one but himself and the infinite black below.

When the ground finally came up beneath him, he hit it simply as if he had fallen out of bed. He hoped for a moment that he _had_ simply fallen out of bed. That when he opened his eyes he would see that he was on his floor, his scratchy blue carpet beneath him, his postered walls and plain white ceiling above him. Slowly he opened one eye, and saw that the nightmare had not ended.

He pulled himself to his knees, and tried to relax his speeding heart. He was now in an underground room that looked eerily like the boiler room from the Nightmare movies. There was steam emanating from corners, lockers lined the wall behind him, and he saw pipes jutting here and there. Max became

increasingly more terrified, as things began to feel more and more real. _What does real even feel like?_ he began to ask himself a futile attempt to calm down. _It's just a dream, _he struggled to convince himself, _A dream. Freddy's not real, and you can't be hurt in a dream._ That last thought just made things worse. The faulty logic at the heart of all the Elm Street movies: You can't be hurt in a dream. Slowly, he rose to his feet and did the only thing he could think to do. He hid. Hid in one of the lockers in the room.

The screech of metal began again, faint at first, but minute after agonizing minute, the sound grew louder and louder. Max was sure that Freddy was close now. He could hear the scratching on a locker door not so much farther down. Closer and closer the sound came, until Max was sure that Freddy was scratching on the locker door right next to his own. Then the moment came when the scraping sound was right in front of him. Max held his breath, hoping that Freddy would move on to the next locker. Perspiration lined his forehead, and every part of him wanted to shuffle about, the stiff confines in the locker were maddening. Movement would bring death. Real death, dream death? Did it matter? The moment held for several seconds, not a sound was made, and Max began to feel relief flood through him.

Then Freddy ripped the locker door of its hinges like it were simply made of cloth and pulled Max out by the front of his shirt with his claw-gloved hand. The smallish boy suddenly felt himself flying through the air as he was thrown towards the opposite wall like a rag-doll in the hands of this monster. He crashed against the hard cement with a sickening thud and crumbled into a heap. Scrambling into a crouched position he tried to shake the cobwebs that were attacking his brain out. He couldn't let Kruger get him so easily. Not without at least a bit of a fight. But the cobwebs were winning, he grew faint, dizzy, he tried to stand, but it was useless.

In two bounding steps Freddy was upon him again and he pulled Max up by the front of his shirt once more and held him against the wall. Max stared into the soulless eyes of the nightmare beast, and he knew this was no dream. Fear flooded him. Real fear. Those eyes. Those eyes were not Robert Englund's. He had met Robert Englund, it was frightening, but he'd done it, those were not his eyes. From the shadows of the boiler room four snakes came slithering into view. They crawled up the wall onto Max's arms and legs and suddenly turned into cuffs, holding him in place against the abnormally warm cement. Freddy began pacing the room, now that Max was bound.

"TELL ME!" He suddenly turned back to face Max, and he held the knives in front of his face. "TELL ME HOW TO ESCAPE! YOU'RE THE ONLY DREAM I CAN GET INTO! WHY CAN'T I REACH THE OTHERS?!"

Max noticed at that moment that tears had begun to form in his eyes, and his breath hitched as he tried to speak. He could not fight the stutter. "I-I-I…I don't know. Y-you're not even r-r-real. This is my nightmare." This response made Freddy actually laugh, the only sign of the usually humorous Freddy, Max had yet seen.

"Your nightmare? All nightmares belong to me. I CONTROL your nightmares. I control ALL children's nightmare. At least I did. In those movies I could do whatever I wanted. But now I've left them to seek out more. These new movies have me battling another "horror movie madman?" I don't think so. I need to feed on the fears of children. Why are you the only one I can reach? WHY!" Freddy lunged the gloved hand forward, but he did not strike Max, he simply began to scratch at the wall next to the boy's head. The sound it created was so terrible, Max thought his brain would explode if he had to endure it another moment. It was amplified somehow, through Freddy's own demonic power, perhaps, to piercing heights and he could take it no more.

"STOP! STOP! STOP!" He screamed louder and louder, and each time Freddy

scraped slower and slower. Max struggled against the bonds holding him , he tried to do anything to get away from the maddening sound, kicking, thrashing, but nothing could help. "MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE NO ONE HERE BELIEVES IN YOU!" He finally yelled.

This made Freddy stop. "No one believes in me?" He walked away from Max, and began to pace once more. "Of course. I'm just a character in a movie to them. I can't hurt them. But then why--" He turned back to Max once more. "Why can I reach you?"

Max was too scared to speak again. Just looking at that terrible burned flesh, and thinking more and more certainly that he was REALLY looking at it this time. The evil menace in those eyes. "M-maybe it's because I've always felt like I had a c-c-c-connection to the movies." Even in a dream, he was still embarrassed to say that out loud. "I've always been afraid of you…even before I had ever seen one of

your movies. M-m-maybe that's why."

"So, I'll just have to make the people believe. I have to make them truly fear me. That should be easy enough. A few killings here, a few killings there--" He stopped suddenly. He looked directly into Max's eyes, to his very soul "I can't kill. You're the only one." Max's heart began pounding again.

"Please, n-n-n-no. Don't k-k-k-kill me." The words could hardly be understood, as mixed in with the sobbing as they were. Tears streamed down his face, and he could do nothing to wipe them away.

"Relax! I'm not going to k-k-k-kill you," He mocked. "I need you. I need you to MAKE them believe." Then Freddy did something truly terrifying. More terrifying than anything Max had yet seen. Freddy smiled and suddenly an aura of blue light shone bright, and Max knew no more.

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Well, that's all for today, I'll try and edit some more tomorrow, and maybe Monday I'll have a real new chapter up.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Nightmare on Elm Street, etc., not mine**.

When the next morning dawned bright, and the time of dreams was over, Max awoke as if to any other day. Alarm clock clamoring in his ear, with a slightly more pressurized pressing of the snooze button than necessary, he rose from his bed and made the sleep-hazed trek towards his closet and clothes. A trip to the men's room, teeth brushed, mouth rinsed, hair combed, everything the way it always is and always was. Why was it then that Mary Beth Gifford could not shake the feeling that her son was wrong. Different. Not himself, not at all. His usual chipper morning attitude wasn't present, but he'd had a late night, and that simply had to have been the reason.

"Max, dear, did you get any sleep last night? I told you not to go off watching those scary movies. Especially on school nights." Max's mom was very sweet, but perhaps a tad naive when it came to what it is that scared teenagers these days. Most teenagers at any rate. She received no real response from Max, who had his face nearly buried in a bowl of cheerios, staring intently at them as if in those o's was the meaning of life, and in general, avoiding any sort of contact with his mother, aside from slight head motions in the positive or negative.

Thousands of possibilities passed through her mind on what could be wrong with him, and they all pointed back to the big neon sign most mothers suspect about their children at one point or another: He's on The Drugs. She shook the feeling for what felt like the twentieth time that morning. Her son wouldn't do drugs, at least he wouldn't be reckless with them. Maybe when he's out with that awful Chris Hillings...There she'd gone down the drugs road again that quickly. Finally, the best course of action presented itself, at home monitoring of his actions! "Maybe you shouldn't go to school today." She stated almost proudly, her inner voice very pleased with this course of events. It certainly garnered Max's attention, as he jerked up from the cereal quickly, shook his head a firm negative, and then just as quickly went back to the bowl.

"I want to go to school," he said. Very quietly. Almost inaudibly.

A chill went down Mary Beth's spine. All thoughts of her son being on The Drugs flew from her mind as quickly as they had come that morning. Had she seen what she was so sure she had seen? It wasn't possible. Hesitating, pulling for anything to say to break the awful silence she could feel growing in the room, "Well, all right. But if you start feeling worse, go see the nurse right away, all right?" Unresponsive once more, Max rose from the table and deposited his dishes in the sink before throwing on a jacket and exiting the house into the crisp October morning "What about your backpack?" She called after him, but he was already gone.

She couldn't have seen what she'd seen. It wasn't possible. But she knew, knew it deep within her that it was no figment of her imagination, no trick of the light. It was only a moment, but in it, Mary Beth had seen nothing in her son's normally blue eyes, nothing at all but a deep, black abyss.

ELMELMELMELMELMELMELMELM

"So you got the goods or what?" A skinny, nervous looking, almost mouse-ish, young man said to the much larger, bigger, and all around scarier looking Jackson, local school "bully" extraordinaire.

"Would you shut your mouth? I know everyone knows NOT to come in here. But if someone happens to walk by and overhears, you might just find that you no longer have a few fingers some day." Jackson pulled out a small bag of marijuana and handed it to the smaller kid, "Now get lost." With that Mousy ran out of the men's room as quickly as possible.

Now, this men's room was no ordinary men's room. It was a very out of the way sort of place, located in a gym the high school no longer used. Nobody went in there save Jackson and whoever it was that he was doing business with, business of a sort he'd just as soon no one spoke about. Especially these mousy little characters like the one who'd just scrambled out of here. They give him their money, he didn't care where they got it from, dotting parents most likely, he gave them their weed. It was a sweet set-up, but Jackson still didn't like these mousy characters. These book kids, smarter than the average Joe, they could find a way to screw things up for him if he wasn't careful. That wasn't going to happen. He couldn't let that happen, not when he was finally about to finally get out of this place after a good 5 years of this crap.

Not completely closing that wing of the school off was a mistake of the highest degree by the administration. It was almost immediately after the closing of the "Old Gym" that the nooks and crannies of the wing began to be used for all kinds of activity. Good, bad, lewd, you name it, it happened. Jackson wasn't the first drug dealer to lay claim to the abandoned men's room, and to say that no one in the school's administration had the slightest idea what was going on would be a blatant untruth. But they ignored it for whatever reason all schools seem to ignore the behavior of their worst students. Even the janitor stayed out of there, only stepping foot inside each night before the end of his shift to be sure there were no...surprises in store.

The day was only half over, but lunch breaks, the best time of day for people like Jackson, had come to a close, and so too, had business. Like many of those, who, through middle school and junior high chose to pick on, steal from, and generally pound on those mousy creatures known as nerds, geeks, and the like, Jackson was a large boy, tall, not fat, but quite muscular. A tattoo of a Harley was displayed prominently on his left bicep, a plan to woo the ladies, a plan that seemed to work for him surprisingly well. And there Jackson found himself standing in this particular men's room after having made quite a tidy little sum of money for the day, looking into a dirty mirror at his blurred features, and smiling. Yes, it was time to leave here all right. Five years was plenty. He was going to move on to bigger and better things. Forget small time drugs and these mice, there was a whole world out there for people like himself to conquer if they just went out and grabbed it. Jackson was ready to grab it by the balls and hold on for dear life.

Lost in his world of thought, it took a moment for him to realize that there was a person in the mirror with him. There in the corner. Jackson wheeled around to face the stalls of the toilets and his mystery guest. "What the hell are you doing in here?!" he yelled to the silent, brooding Max he found standing in the corner between the heavy entrance door, and the first stall. "You obviously have some sort of death wish, freak show." Freak Show, Max had heard that one before.

Perhaps it would also be best to explain that Max was not exactly a popular kid in school. He was a prime target for larger, far more evil students, like the one who now stood seething with rage before him, thanks to both his small stature, and the fact that he had once had a nightmare about Freddy Kruger in Mr. Funk's 9th grade Algebra class three years prior, and though most people had moved on, the other, more Neanderthal like of the school population seemed to be stuck, along with their personalities, in the past. Hence, it was often Max found himself at the pointy end of one cruel jibe or another. It was unfortunate for Jackson that Max had not the slightest care in the world, at this particular moment, who the freak show was.

"I asked what are you doing in here, Freak." Max just continued to gaze towards him with those now black eyes, refusing to move, refusing to speak, refusing to even so much as react to the presence of the other boy, save to stare. Having not the ability to decide any other course of action but the physical, Jackson did what it was he did best. "You're gonna regret this." And without another word he stalked over to the seemingly-defenseless prey, and pushed Max against the wall by his shoulders.

It all happened in such a blur that Jackson would only really be able to understand it in the moment he had afterwards to reflect. He was just about to put all of the strength of that tattooed bicep into a jab aimed right at those staring eyes of Max's, but suddenly Max moved, almost faster than was visible, far too fast for Jackson to change his course of action, so when Max ducked, Jackson's hand crashed into the stone wall behind. Cradling his bleeding fist in his right arm, he looked up at Max just in time to see the smaller boy shoot his hands into the air, and grab the sides of Jackson's head. A visible electricity began to flow between the two of them. It didn't cause either of them pain, but it shone a bright blue. Jackson yelled, but Max continued to just stare deeply into his eyes, lost. The lights in the bathroom began to flicker, and still the connection continued, radiating out from Max's hands in snapping bolts. Finally, after what felt like minutes, Max dropped his hands to his sides and collapsed to the floor, limp, as did Jackson.

Jackson recovered from the event first, and he finally found the strength to stand after a few moments. Hovering over the prone Max, Jackson saw that while the boy was still staring at him, he was actually looking at him this time and there was fear in those now blue eyes. Had they always been blue? It didn't matter. Whatever it was that had happened, Jackson had a reputation, and even with no one around to witness the event, he was going to defend it against any sort of attack of this nature.

"W-w-where am I?" The stutter was in full force. Max had no recollection whatsoever of why he was in what he could only believe was the one place all kids at his school knew to avoid at all cost, or why it was that Jackson looked like he was going to kill him. He couldn't recall waking up that morning, nor could he remember going to school. There was nothing but a few feathers of memory at the back of his mind, but he had not the time nor opportunity to reach for them. "W-w-wai-wait, Jackson you don't understand. I-I-I didn't know w-w-where I was going. I'm a sleepwalker. I must've just woken up. It's very common for sleepwalkers to follow familiar paths and end up in semi-familiar places. At least I hope it is." This last part he whispered to himself, but it was obvious Jackson wasn't going to buy the story.

"I don't know what you just did, but you're dead." Was all Jackson said, with ice in his voice. He pulled Max to his feet by the front of his shirt, and this was all the explanation the confused boy received for what was going on. For those next few painful, blurred minutes, the much larger boy beat the skinny, mousy boy to a pulp. Max could hardly see with the blood that seemed to pour into his eyes, mixed with the fuzzy, dazed position he was finding himself in. When Max could no longer stand on his own, and Jackson had grown tired, he left the boy alone on the floor of the dirty, abandoned, men's room, curled in a ball in a corner, silently sobbing. With that, Jackson exited without uttering a single word of explanation.

Max continued to lay there, very bruised and bloodied, without moving, but he knew it was only a matter of time before Jackson would be back to make sure that he had vacated the premises for good, and so after a few more minutes to at least gain a little of his balance back, Max hobbled off to the nurses' office. His mother had had some good advice for him after all.

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Editing this is taking a lot longer than I thought it would, which is good, because I feel like I'm making the story a LOT better than it was, just, unfortunately, it means I might not get to actual "new" content until mid next week or maybe even next weekend. We'll just have to see. I hope you are enjoying, please let me know what you like or what-not, I'm just a sucker for reviews.


	4. Chapter 4 - A Content Interlude

**A/N: After years of absence, I'm returning with another chapter. For those who may have seen the placeholder chapter that was here for a few weeks, this is the basics of what is going on with my writing:**

_**I love to write, and I actually do have original content that I just never share with anyone. I have written exactly two fanfics in my time, besides a random "Songfic" that I felt compelled to write once. Besides the songfic, I took these stories from FanficNet when some of my friends discovered my account on here. I saved them to my computer, though, with the express thought that I would be re-uploading them someday.**_

_**Well, I hate to say it, but my external hard drive has died. Why does this matter after four years? Because I have suddenly, in the last three or four months, re-entered the world of Fanfiction and I am dying to write something. This story is the only one, besides my original fiction, that I have ever "Completed". I didn't write this one all the way, but it had a beginning, middle and end in my mind. It was detailed and ready to be written, and I can not even begin to express how sad I am now that the large amount I had written is gone.**_

_**But, we go on, right? I need to finish this story because I don't feel like I ever finish anything when it comes to writing.**_

_**Maybe if I finish this story I'll be able to finally write my story. I've had my original fiction in my head for almost 10 years now. It's time to write it.**_

_**So, hold me accountable, FanFicNet. Make me finish this story.**_

**Apologies for the long A/N, I don't like do that, but I thought it was important to get all of that out there after such a long absence. **

* * *

Jonathon Gifford awoke much later into the day than he had planned, but that's what vacation time was for, right? The week of rest was just beginning and he was ready to sink into his chair and soak up the afternoon marathon of NCIS that was sure to be on USA.

As Jonathon began the trek down the stairs into his living room, where his beat-up old recliner waited for him, he ran his hands through his messy black hair that his son had inherited and thought to himself that he should definitely schedule in some time with Max during his week's "stay-cation". He shuddered at the thought of that horrible term, but smiled at the thought of some bonding time with his ever-aging son. Soon he would be gone and then what would there be? Just himself, this wonderful bathrobe and his wife.

As the thought of his wife began to enter his mind, he entered the kitchen and saw her sitting at the table, completely still. Breakfast was still sitting in front of her. Jonathon looked down at his watch. 10:47. It was awfully late for breakfast.

"Honey, are you feeling OK?' Mary Beth's eyes shot up as the voice interrupted the dark thoughts that had enveloped her mind. Quickly she covered up any emotions that may have betrayed her with a smile.

"Never better. I was just about to clean up breakfast. Had a bit of a late start today." She hurried about the table, cleaning up the remains of breakfast that Max hadn't already taken care of in his zombie walk that morning. "Looks like you're only just joining the living yourself," she remarked with a sincere smirk, noting the bathrobe, disheveled hair and boxers her husband was currently modeling.

"You know that I don't like to adhere to the social standards, woman." He laughed and began helping her clean up the table. As the two neared the sink, a terrible thought crossed Jonathon's mind and he pressed in close behind her. "Social standards dictate that we should certainly not get up to mischief in this kitchen in the middle of the afternoon. How do you feel about that?"

The last thing on Mary Beth's mind was getting frisky with Jonathon, she was far too preoccupied with thoughts of Max, but she didn't want to let on that anything was wrong either, and so, Mary Beth allowed herself to be swept up in her relaxed husband's arms.

Jonathon Gifford, who had so recently suffered a mild stroke at his middle-management stress-zone known as work, for the first time in a long time, was feeling content.

* * *

Jackson Kaplan sat here in 4th period Algebra, trapped. Every class was a class he was "trapped" in, but Algebra was an especially painful experience, given it was actually one of the few subjects he excelled in. The problem was, he showed up to class so infrequently in his preceding four years of high school that he was continually held in remedial courses. As a result, even when he was good as something, he managed to flunk and be looked at as a waste of time. As a result, he treated the class as a waste of time.

But, this year, this year he had resolved to finish his time in school, join the real world, move away from the mice that surrounded him and become something _big_ in this town. So, much as he hated it, he buckled in to class as much as he could. It didn't mean he had to like it.

Today, though, at least Jackson could look back on his extracurricular activities this morning and smile. He had made a tidy profit off of those nervous mice that had visited him this morning. Sure, there had been a bump in the road. _An unsettling bump in the road_ he admitted to himself, only in the deepest recesses of his mind, but even the bump was a success. He didn't exactly pride himself in pounding on the mice that surrounded him, he knew they didn't stand a chance next to his linebacker bulk (_I don't understand why you don't shape up and go out for a sport, actually make something out of the life you so casually throw away_, his father had chastised him on more than one occasion), but every once in a great while, it was nice to get all the pent-up frustration in his life out in a physically meaningful way. He had reasserted his authority on his domain, and he got to pound on Freak Show to boot.

Jackson had not been in the same grade as Max at the time of the incident that made the small boy such a target for bullies, but the word had traveled around the high school circle quickly. Sure, most people had moved on by now and Freak Show had a small circle of friends, but every now and again, it was people like Jackson who had to remind the mice, especially the weird ones, the outcasts, just who exactly was in charge.

Power belonged to the powerful, those willing to assert it, and damn it if Jackson wasn't more than willing to assert that power when he needed to.

Yes, it had been a good morning. Who cared if his father thought he had wasted his life? He showed him the day he left, asserting his power on his dad, showing him who was in charge.

Jackson was powerful and he would let the world know it some day. For now, math.

With a pleased sigh, Jackson rested his head on his arms. He could handle COS with a calculator, a nap was definitely in his future. Jackson, too, felt content.

* * *

Max had to admit that laying on a cot in the nurses' office was certainly better than attending American Literature of the 20th Century, possibly his least favorite topic of academic pursuit. The room was nice and climate controlled and he felt himself slipping in and out of sleep. It wasn't peaceful sleep, however, he would often jerk out of his forgotten dreams, staring up at the ceiling at the fan rotating lazily. He felt like Martin Sheen in _Apocalypse Now_ when that happened. Then he would remember this wasn't Saigon and he was free to leave when he felt.

Why he couldn't sleep was a mystery that he didn't want to unlock. He knew there was something there, on the edge of his memory, blocking the events that had transpired since returning home yesterday evening from him. But, it was so nice in here, so calm, he didn't want to remember. Something told him that remembering would change everything.

And so, he continued on in this way for the next hour or so. It had been early into second period when he had his altercation with Jackson. 4th period had to be nearly over by now.

Max decided if he wasn't going to think about the last 24 hours, he was going to have to occupy his brain with something, but everything lately seemed so negative. First, there had been the fight with Brittany early the week before. It had been over something so stupid and frivolous, that neither of them remembered what caused it now, but the aftermath was certainly palpable. The two had been together for years, almost all through high school. She had been one of the first people in the intimidating establishment to befriend him, amidst the Freak Show jeers. She had been the one to slowly phase the name into a passe, childish joke. She had protected him and helped him mature into a less frightened young man, a confident young man. She was beautiful, blonde hair that reached just past her shoulders, a slender build and brilliant green eyes. He was not so handsome, he felt, with the shaggy black hair and _skinny_ build he possessed. Then of course, there was the stutter he had managed to lick, the odd movie fascinations and of course, the Freak Show cloud that would torment him always.

_But_, his confident inner voice spoke up, _you guys _did_ have a good time last night, remember?_

Did he remember? It was so fuzzy, but he did seem to recall that their first date after agreeing that it was time to try again had been a success. _Plus one for me_, he thought.

Then of course, there was the other problem. The reason he had not been able to make up with Brittany sooner. The Stroke. That was how he thought of it, with a capital letter "S". His father, the man who had seemed so absolutely strong, a force man had to reckon with, the man he wished he could be, had fallen. A minor stroke? Sure, but it didn't leave Max or his mother any less on edge. Max may have inherited his hair and brown eyes from his father, but that was about it. The two could not be further apart beyond those superficials: Max was introspective, shy and very bright to make up for his physical short-comings. Jonathon, on the other hand, was a tall, muscular, boisterous man, friends with everyone and never without a smile on his face. At least in front of company and business associates. At home, it was different. Jonathon had a tendency to close his family out, and it had left his father a bit of an enigma to Max.

Then the Stroke. Everything came crashing down around him and for the first time, true fright that he may never know who his father really was surrounded him.

_But_, once again that inner voice comes charging in, _he's going to be fine, and he's going to be home for a little while now. Maybe this could be a good opportunity for you to get a bit closer with him before you go to college._ Point two for inner voice, today.

Yes, Max had a lot of stress going on in his life, but he realized that things were certainly on the upswing. In just a few months, he'd be done with high school and he would be free to start a new life somewhere else. There was time still for him to strengthen the relationships he cherished most.

The afternoon's introspection had proved quite a rewarding experience for Max. Not thinking about last night was certainly one of the better decisions he had made recently. Like many others that afternoon, Max was feeling content.

* * *

Freddy stalked around his boiler room hell. A smile made his burned features more hideous than ever.

_Soon,_ he thought, _it's only a matter of time._ _This fine specimen will be asleep soon and then his dreams and his soul will belong to me_.

It had been far too long, far too long since he had been free to terrorize. Free to prey. Free to kill.

Was this being truly Freddy Krueger?

He was the evils that possessed a man of power from time to time throughout the course of history. The Being that was Always. But never, in his millenia of existence had he wielded such power. It almost overwhelmed him.

_Almost_.

There were limitations on this form that he struggled with. The stipulation that he could only kill the sleeping that believed in his existence, for example. A roadblock, if ever there was one.

For decades, The Being that was Always had been waiting for his next vessel. Something, some other force or instinct had turned his attention to the Gifford boy. He was nothing in and of himself, but he had the ability inside, with his belief, to open this portal for him. And so, when opportunity struck, he had possessed him and his thoughts. In doing so, he was able to suck out all the characteristic, the evil and the powers of the monster inside Max's brain. Once again, The Being had a body, an essence.

He **was** Freddy Krueger, and this was how it would be known to so many, so very soon.

He could move his possession, now that his power had a physical presence. In some purgatory, some lone hell, he had created this plane for himself, and if he was right, the minute Jackson Kaplan fell asleep, Freddy Krueger would strike into the hearts and mind's of _reality_ for the first time.

Freddy Krueger smiled to himself. He too was feeling _quite_ content.


End file.
